


τὸ μέλημα τὦμον (my darling one)

by sebbie



Category: Original Work
Genre: A character is based on Katharine Hepburn because (again) I'm too gay to think of otherwise, F/F, F/M, I'm unsure of how to tag it but the text does contain mentions of rape, a former school project turned indulgent source of distraction, also someone dies but it's not the lesbians, based on lesbian pulp fiction (kind of), indulgent prose if i've ever seen one, lesbians in the 1950s - 2000s (sort of), lots of anachronisms (especially in syntax), sappho makes an appearance because I'm not straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 17:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebbie/pseuds/sebbie
Summary: The following texts are selected excerpts and entries from Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton’s diaries and sources external to her diaries. The selection hopes to shed light into her relationship with Thomas Houghton and her eventual marriage to his sister Katherine Ann Houghton."someone will remember us / I say / even in another time"(Sappho, Fragment 147, trans. Anne Carson)





	1. Editor's Note

The following texts are selected excerpts and entries from Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton’s diaries and sources external to her diaries.

Bentley is an esteemed artist who has received critical acclaim in artistic communities worldwide. She was propelled further into the limelight as being one of the first few people who entered into a same-sex civil union with her partner, renowned travel journalist Katherine Houghton. They entered into a civil union on July 3, 2000, just two days after Vermont passed the civil unions bill into law.

Elisabeth and Katherine were married four years later on June 26, 2004, a little over a month after the state of Massachusetts legalized same-sex marriage.

On August 5, 2014, a semi-biographical film entitled _Elisa and Kit_ (starring Naomi Watts as Elisabeth and Cate Blanchett as Katherine) was shown in the Atlanta Film Festival. It won the Pink Peach prize and was hailed by many critics as one of the most important films in Queer cinema to shed light on the struggles of the civil rights movements whilst intertwining it with the coming out story of two well-known public figures.

Today, Elisabeth and Katherine are living happily together in their house in Brooklyn. They are both still very active in advocating for civil rights. They renewed their vows last year after the US Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage in all fifty-states.

Sebbie L----  
Hi-Eighteen Publishing House  
2016

* * *

 

[The following are selected pages from the book _Blue Skies: The Love Story of Elisa Bentley and Kit Houghton_ compiled and edited by Sebbie L----. Note that some excerpts may contain triggering scenes involving incestuous rape.

Next fall, Hi-Eighteen Publishing House is releasing _Renewing our Vows after Obergefell v. Hodges: On a Life of Love and Activism_ written by Katherine Houghton and Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton.]


	2. November 20, 1950

**November 20, 1950**

I’ve never written a diary before but mama said I should try it.

I don’t really know what to write in one. 

Mama said I should write about my feelings.

I feel bored. 

Everything’s so dull here in Pirie-Woods so I want to go back to school and see all my friends. You know, it’s all Tilly’s fault, I’m sure. She did a bad thing. Because she told on Miss Beaty and Miss Audie, it’s what she did or no, no, NO. She didn’t _really_ tell on them. She invented stories! I mean she’s always making up a scam to get other people into trouble. So that’s what happened I’m sure. But it’s much more bad because now the older students are saying we might not have a school anymore. I don’t like Tilly at all.

But I do like someone in school too of course. I like Kitty very much because she doesn’t cry very easily like the other girls. And then _of course_ I like Kitty even more because Tilly doesn’t like Kitty at all because she doesn’t know how to make Kitty mad or cry.

Kitty’s not really friends with the other girls but I think I’m her best friend!!! That’s because she talks to me a lot and we read books together and she shows me her all her hiding places and she taught me how to climb a tree. I think that makes us best friends.

Oh, and of course Kitty lets me call her Kitty. Her real name is Katherine, if you want to know. The girls and the teachers call her Kit but I call her Kitty and she doesn’t get all tangled up about it. But she used to get all mad up about it. Her face got all red and she made funny faces. Kitty tries to ignore me when she’s mad but she never stays mad at me for too long. Mama says it’s because I’m very stubborn and persistent. I think it’s because Kitty likes me more than the other girls so she let me call her Kitty. She pushed Tilly into the fountain when Tilly tried to call her Kitty too. But I think it was because Tilly was being annoying about it. But Tilly is always annoying anyway. Tilly cried so Kitty got in trouble. I thought it was very funny.

Anyways. One day, Tilly’s gramma came to Faderman Academy. She was cursing up a storm at Miss Beaty and Miss Audie. And the next thing I know the school is being shut down and we’re being asked to pack up our stuff and then mamas and papas are picking up their kids from school weeks before Thanksgiving. Next thing I know, it’s only me and Kitty, and three other girls who got left behind because our mamas and papas lived farther away.

My mama lives far from school. But I don’t really have a papa anymore like the other girls. So it’s only mama who picked me up. I have an uncle who is mama’s baby brother. His name is Nicholas but my mama calls him Nick. So I call him Uncle Nick too.

Other girls don’t like school. But I do because Kitty is there and because it’s boring being on my own. Kitty lives close to our home too but mama says girls shouldn’t be out on their own so I never get to visit her. She also said that it would bad to impose myself in their house and I should help out in the farm yard instead. That’s okay because I like the horses anyway.

I wish they fix up what’s wrong already though. It’s not like don’t miss mama and Uncle Nick when I’m away okay. And I miss Cliff too! That’s my best friend. I mean, my other best friend apart from Kitty. He’s a German shep that papa brought home when he was on leave. Mama said papa got him so someone will protect us at home while papa was protecting us on his ship. Anyways, that was long, long ago when I was four. I’m eleven now so I can’t really remember. Right now my problem is that I’m very bored and I’ve used up all my crayons.

So, anyways here’s what happened with Tilly. The older kids told me about what she said she thought Miss Audie and Miss Beaty did. Now, mama told me not to believe gossip but nobody else was telling me n’other story. They said that Tilly told her gramma that Miss Hopkins (that’s another teacher) said that Miss Beaty was jealous of Miss Audie’s fiancé, Doctor Garner, and that Miss Hopkins also said that Miss Beaty was having “unnatural” feelings for Miss Audie, so now they’re going to court about it because Tilly’s gramma and Miss Hopkins said they should.

I don’t know what that means. I think maybe “unnatural” is a bad word because they say it the way mama curses sometimes (mama thinks I never hear her but sometimes I do). I know people go to court when they do bad things or when people say they did bad things (because mama said sometimes people are accused of bad things they maybe didn’t do).

I tried to ask mama about it but she said I was too young to understand. And all I had to know was they were hurting each other and I shouldn’t ever do it. But I don’t know if Miss Beaty and Miss Audie are really hurting each other. I think they’re very good friends and mama always says being friends with people is good. And they’re always nice too. I think Miss Hopkins is just making stuff up about being unnatural. Maybe she was making it up because she doesn’t have friends. I bet she’s just being mean because us girls don’t like her as much as we like Miss Beaty and Miss Audie. Mama said people do mean things to other people when they feel jealous. Anyways, I hope they make up so we can go back to school1

* * *

 

Footnote(s):

1 - The original diary entry is riddled with grammar and spelling corrections. The entry presented here has been edited to accommodate these corrections as they do not, apart from improving syntax and spelling, present any significant change in context.

Scholars have compared and matched the handwriting of the person correcting the entry to letters written by the mother of Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton. It is likely that the young Elisabeth had her mother read and correct her entry. Only three diary entries after (dated November 25, 1950; November 30, 1950; and December 24, 1950) have such corrections.

The diary entry is also filled with drawings done by young Elisabeth. There is a drawing labelled “Faderman Academy.” And another set, emulating a sort of map, labelled “my house” and “Kitty’s house.” The rest of the drawings are crude figures representing all of the people mentioned in the entry.

Most of the drawings are faceless and are only differentiated by their clothes.

The drawings for Martha Hopkins, Mathilda “Tilly” Haynes, and Veronica Ford (the grandmother of Tilly Haynes) are slightly more distinct as they have been drawn with angry faces.

There is also a drawing for Cliff the German shepherd. There are also drawings of horses.

The drawing for Katherine Ann Houghton is a bit less slapdash than the others. Done with an evident amount of care, the drawing for Miss Houghton displays the budding artistic talent of the young Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton.


	3. September 27, 1962

**September 27, 1962**

I committed a great sin and God witnessed it as surely as the people who attended my wedding. Of course, only God knows its depth while everyone else was fooled by the white gown, the mushy vows, the church songs, the flowers, and everything else. I thought I could fool myself too. Two years and I’m still trying to convince myself it’s going to work out somehow; that I’m going to feel better. Isn’t that how the stories go? When the love of your life comes to sweep you off your feet it’s going to be happily ever after?

I don’t know what’s happening to me but my misgivings have been weighing on me much more heavily than ever before. Thomas said my apprehension is bleeding into my paintings. They’re darker, he says, a touch chaotic. I don’t disagree. My works are usually vibrant but now it’s as though the life has been leeched out of them.

Perhaps the guilt has finally decided to eat me away. After all the sin I’ve committed is as much against myself as it is against Thomas. I can bear being miserable but I despise hurting Thomas. 

I married a man I don’t love. [This line is crossed out.]

Oh, hell. I don’t know. I suppose I do love Thomas. [This line is crossed out as well.]

I love Thomas. I do. I truly do even if I’m occasionally beset with confusion and uncertainty. I have known Thomas all my life, of course I love him. Of course, I do.

 _I do. —_ Lord, his smile when I said that. It almost broke my heart, you know? He looked so happy. Ecstatic, yet oddly serene. When the priest finally told us that I may be kissed, Thomas’s eyes became alight with such happiness that even I was caught in the wave of his giddiness. In that moment, _for a moment_ everything was alright. It was a joyous celebration but now, in my melancholy, I realize I did not (do not) truly share Thomas’s enthusiasm. 

When my father kissed her, mama said, it was like a fairytale come to life. It felt as though she had woken up from a long sleep and had fallen into the arms of her prince. The way she paints my father in her stories is very particular— he was the man who finally swept her towards forevermore. My father may have died young, but my mother remains very much in love with him even today. Whenever we would reminisce about my father, she would never fail to remind me of the warmth of my father’s embrace. It’s a place, she says, where she would always feel loved and protected. She tells me it is still so even if all she has now are memories of my father. Mama sometimes speaks about finally coming home to my father, she said she has lived long enough without him (I tell her, of course, that father won’t begrudge her more years with me. I’d miss her terribly and she is still quite young, young looking if anything else).

Do I feel the same for Thomas as my mother had for my father? I don’t think I do. I don’t think I ever had, not in all the years we’ve spent together.

Thomas is not a bad kisser, I don’t think— not that I have anyone else to compare him to. I don’t want to do him any disservice, of course. And truly, I don’t think he’s a bad kisser. I suppose the problem lies with me. How can it not? Thomas radiates this utter affection and tenderness that I don’t truly share. I remain cold even when he is so warm. 

It’s tragically funny that my mind does not seem to want to let go of my memory of kissing Thomas for the first time. It’s all very vivid. When the memory replays in my mind it almost feels real. I remember how, when his face was too close to mine, the last thing that I could see were his eyes before fluttering shut. A gnawing thing nags at me in the back of my mind. Thomas’s eyes are a shade of this deceptively familiar blue and yet it eludes my conscious thought precisely what makes it so deceptive. When I try to grasp at the familiarity it slips through my fingers, and all I can see looking back at me is an utterly alien gaze. Tender and loving yet unfamiliar in all its stormy darkness. I remember feeling as though I couldn’t breathe. When I finally closed my eyes, leaning in, the impression of those blue eyes haunted me.

I was the bride to be kissed, and Thomas, ever dutiful, had cupped my face, beckoning me closer. I let him pull me flush against him. He pressed his lips against mine, and as always, he is gentle. His kisses, I’ve come to learn, are always soft and tender. Even when he is passionate, he is always tender. Despite it all, his touch still feels so out of place, too rough. Always I must will myself to return the muted desire, the loving affection that I see behind his eyes. I kiss him back yet I know in my heart that I do not adore him as he adores me.

Always I find myself willing his face to become someone else and it terrifies me. His face is already so familiar. I’ve known him for years and I’ve memorized the freckles on his face, the mole beneath his left eye, the slant of his nose, the curve of his lips, the way his hair falls across his forehead, and yet— I still feel this yearning in my soul that beseeches my mind to transform these familiar features into someone else. I can almost hear my heart begging me to understand this desire that I cannot name.

I don’t even know what I want. All I know is that it should be Thomas. It must be _my husband_ but, God, it’s not him. If it were, I wouldn’t feel so conflicted and miserable. I think [the following lines are too badly blacked out to make out].

[A line separates the following entry from the former.]2

Mama said her wedding day was the happiest day of her life. Papa was the greatest gift she’d ever gotten, she said, at least until I was born. My memories are vague and these were the times before I’d started writing in a diary (or even had the sense to write in one). But I remember when mama would brush my hair while we’d name the shapes we saw in the sky, while we stared at vast fields before us and the dirt road the leads to town. We would be sitting together on the front porch, she would be telling me stories as we waited for papa to come home.

He never did.

One day, a different man in uniform came. I was young, but I suppose I’d gotten a sense that something was amiss. Thats what mama tells me, at least. She said that on that day, even before the man came, it was as

though I’d been struck mute. I was always a happy girl, always smiling and giggling, and she’d been confounded by the silence and somberness that had plagued me since sunrise. When the man in uniform came, that’s when she knew that papa was gone. I remember her telling me about how I had tears in my eyes, and how I didn’t cry until she told me that papa won’t be coming home.

Even after my father’s death, my mother and I kept with tradition. We would sit on the front porch, watch the sky turn orange as the sun kissed the lands, and mama would tell me stories about my father and their great love story. I never got tired of hearing her talk about papa because she made everything sound so beautiful. Filled with love and happiness even when her voice trembled and her eyes filled with tears. My God, how her devotion amazed me. (Amazes me, even now.) Their love story was, I decided, better then any fairytale story I’d ever read because it was real. So I decided that one day I would meet someone like papa. I would love him the way mama loved papa, and he would be the greatest gift to me until I too had a child of my own.

 _I don’t want the fairytales, mama._ I think that’s what I told her one day. _I want real love._

I don’t know if I’ve managed to fulfill the dreams of my younger self. I do love Thomas, don’t get me wrong. He is the only man I’ve met worth loving. I’ve known him all my life even if he doesn’t evokein me the same sort of [the lines are badly blacked out and cannot be read].

* * *

 

Footnote(s):

2 - It is possible that the entry beneath the line was written on a different day. Anywhere between September 27, 1962 and the following dated entry on September 30, 1962.


	4. October 19, 1961

**October 19, 1961**

I love Thomas, never doubt that. He is my protector, my friend, and my confidante. I am truly very lucky to have him in my life. He is very kind and very funny even though he can be so quiet. We get along pretty well, him and I. We always have.

Thomas is a lot like his sister, but where he is the immovable object, she is the unstoppable force. You know, he would look a lot like Kitty too— if he had longer hair and wore a skirt, that is (not that Kitty is particularly partial to skirts).3 I guess they’re twins for a reason.

They are both very dear to me. In our youth we were inseparable, the best of friends. Now, Thomas and I are man and wife, and Kitty is my sister-in-law. We have always been family, so I’d supposed nothing would change between the three of us. But things are very different now. Kitty is becoming more and more distant each day. Thomas has become quieter too, though he is as kind as ever. It feels as though he has been giving me space and it befuddles me. Does he know about my private feelings? Does he suspect my misgivings? I love him, regardless, and truly I hope he knows that.

I wish I had someone to talk to about all these things. But Kitty seems bent on avoiding us (avoiding me?) and I am not as comfortable with my other friends [the word “friends” is crossed out and replaced with] acquaintances. I don’t think my mother will understand either. I am sure that she will try her best to comfort me, but at the end of the day she will simply tell me, as she had before, that it will work out. That I am only out of sorts because I’m still young. I always remind myself to hold my tongue else I tell my mother that she was much younger than I was when she married papa and she was never confused about her feelings for him at all.

What I have with Thomas is real love, is it not? _This_ is precisely what I told my mother I’d wanted— the real kind of love that beats out the childish fantasies trapped in ink and paper. However, it still feels as though I’d missed the mark completely. I wonder if it’s because I’d been disenchanted longer than I’ve realized. When I think about it, I’ve never really been as enthusiastic about marriage as my peers. Perhaps it’s because the only other woman I’m truly close to is Kitty. And God knows she prefers adventures to marriage, whether the adventures are her own or the ones you’d read in books.

Regardless, the older I became, the less I understood all the fuss about finding prince-charming-come-to-life. It all seemed like a dream, and one that did not belong to me. Truly, I was always much more taken with Kitty’s daydreams than I was with anything else. Which is why, regardless of whether or not she truly is avoiding me and Thomas, I’m glad that she’s finally going on those adventures she used to only dream of.

I would love to see the world with her. I think an adventure with Kitty would be nothing short of inspiring and breath taking. My art would benefit from it greatly too, if the influence of her storytelling (scant as her letters may be these days) aren’t evidence enough. Thomas would love to see the world too, I think, but he has a job to think of and he’s always been the sensible one amongst us three.

Sensible or not, Kitty’s influence or not, I suppose I had simply never felt the need to hurry, much less worry about finding my supposed prince charming. I’d known Thomas all my life and [a chunk of text was blacked out]. Somehow, I always knew I’d be with my blue-eyed darling. Thomas is and has always been a constant in my life and I am glad for it. I do not regret marrying him, only that I seem to be unable to return his adoration as such. I am not so faithful to him in my devotion, even if my betrayal only exists in the form of traitorous thoughts.

I wanted real love and not fairytales, that’s what I believed. Now I no longer understand the dreams and sentiments of my childhood self. Part of me wishes I’d gone for the fairytale. I feel guilty for it because Thomas is here. He is real and he loves me. Despite everything, I love him too and I am ashamed to admit my discontent.

* * *

 

Footnote(s):

3 - There are drawings after the diary entry that shows lifelike sketches of Thomas Houghton with long hair and dressed as a woman. There are similar sketches of his twin sister, Katherine (this time, with short hair and dressed as a man). Below the sketches, Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton notes: “All in good fun. I showed the drawings to Kitty and Tom and they found it hilarious and well-made. At the very least, Kitty thinks she should follow my sketches. I think she would look fetching as a man. Tom says his twin sister ought to look handsome because he is already very handsome himself.”

 


	5. September 30, 1962

**September 30, 1962**

Tell me, for I am oh, so terribly curious— What is so special about men that the women at work are always talking about them? Everyday they would be chattering about some fellow who took them out to dinner and how he must be the one, yadda, yadda, yadda… Sometimes, I wonder if they applied for the job just to find another lady to talk to about men.

I remember how ecstatic they were when they found out I was engaged. I think they were more excited than I was. I was happy to marry Thomas, but their fawning was on a completely different (and, frankly, distasteful) level. _You’re such a lucky girl!_ Ugh. And now— _now_ that I’m married all the other gals are rolling their eyes at me. They all sound so patronizing. They’re all asking me why I don’t just quit and stay at home to take care of Thomas. The nerve! I’m trying to stick to my bookkeeping and these damned vultures wouldn’t shut up about how I should live my life. For their information, not that they’d ever bother listening (or even that they could given their endless chattering), Thomas is rather supportive of my decision to work. He is supportive even now when I’m three months pregnant with our first child. I think the only reason why he’d ever tell me to quit is so I could focus on my art.

God knows, he says, that I’ll start tearing the upholstery if I’m cooped up at home for too long. _You’re just like Kit_ , he teases me sometimes, _you both have wanderlust in your blood_. _You’re just more sensible than she is_. This is one of the reasons why I love Thomas. He understands me quite well. I suppose the ladies are right about one thing, I _am_ a lucky gal.

However, I think I might end up quitting after all, perhaps next month. It would be good to get away from the mind-numbing office chatter and even better if I had more time to focus on my painting.  [The following sentences are blacked out but some parts are legible]: (I’m sure if Uncle Nick was alive, he’d be smiling triumphantly. _That’s my niece right there, what a great gal! Got herself a great catch, eh? And now she’s expecting too!_ ) [The next sentences have been crossed out more thoroughly and only the first couple of words are vaguely legible] Damn him I [the rest is obscured].

I _am_ a lucky girl. Thomas loves me and I care about him deeply. That should be enough. Is Thomas not my great love? Half of my heart. Partner of my soul. Why do I keep yearning for [the line is crossed out and rewritten]: Why do I keep yearning for more? Or, not more. Not really. Nothing could be more than Thomas. I feel as though I am simply yearning for _other_ things; things I shouldn’t be [the sentence is not finished].

Wasn’t this marriage where my entire life was supposed to lead up to? And yet I keep thinking what’s all this? Some achievement? Some mock up? A mistake? Mama said marriage will transform me but I don’t feel different. I don’t feel transformed. Instead I feel [the sentence is not finished].

My husband is asleep in bed while I am awake scribbling away in this blasted diary. Something must be wrong with me. I am his wife yet I am unable to share in his sweet dreams. It’s feels as though I no longer understand how love is supposed to feel like. I think that I love Thomas, I am sure that I love Thomas— yet my chest keeps aching with this striking emptiness. Does my heart even know what it is longing for? 

Oh Thomas, my blue-eyed darling. _You_ are my blue-eyed darling and I love you. If by some curse I don’t love you enough now, I will learn to. I promise I will learn to reciprocate the fire in your eyes and the fervency of your touches. One day, I will. I have to.


	6. May 28, 1957

**May 28, 1957**

Tom is very bad at seeking. Or perhaps it’s Kitty who’s utterly creative with her hiding spots. (I think she would’ve jumped into the pond had I not dragged her away. Can she even hold her breath that long?) We hid up a tree together. I’m not very fond of heights but Kitty held my hand the entire time. _I will keep you safe_ , she told me. It isn’t fair, I think, that one need only look into Kitty’s eyes to trust her whole-heartedly.

Tom’s eyes are kind too, but they are not Kitty’s. He needs to employ a bit more charm. He can be very quiet but when he’s talkative he does have a way with words and his eyes take on that sparkle that’s permanent in Kitty’s. Or maybe I simply am more taken to favoring Kitty because I’ve known her longer (at least three years longer). I used to think Kitty was quiet too because she tended to avoid the other girls, it turns out the other girls just bored her because they, and I quote: “didn’t like rolling in mud as much as I did.” And to think I thought Kitty was a stoic and reserved girl who simply preferred reading. When Faderman became co-ed, Kitty started getting into all sort of trouble trying to fight with the boys. Funnily enough, it was Tom and I who always had to drag her away. Heck, two summers ago Kitty nearly broke her arm after getting into a tussle with Steve Sanderson. (To her credit, she did win.)

Tom used to study in the boys school some distance from Faderman. That’s why I never met him until Faderman went co-ed after the whole debacle with Miss Beaty and Miss Audie got fixed up, and Tom transferred. That co-ed thing was an even bigger scandal too, believe me. Everyone was horrified because the school started allowing male and female boarders in the dormitories. Mrs. Ford even enrolled Tilly out of school (good riddance, really). It was going to become an even greater haven of sin, she said. I thought it was ridiculous. Most of the boys were too dumb anyway. Thankfully, Tom is clever so I quite like him.

I remember when I first saw him. Not a hard memory to forget when you’d been caught rudely staring. I really thought that it was Kitty I’d been seeing and she’d just gotten a spiffy cut. (Ridiculous but I don’t think it would look terrible if she decided to get a boy’s cut.) In my defense, Kitty and Tom _are_ twins. Even their faces scrunch up the same way, Kitty just tends to be more expressive most days.

It was only when I’d gotten closer that I’d realize the person I’d been staring at was not my Kitty at all but a complete stranger (and yes, it’s ridiculous but my feet were indeed propelled by some force and I was simply drawn to that figure of Kitty who was not Kitty standing in the distance).

Despite, admittedly, being in a daze, I knew he was not Kitty because of the way he regarded me. The twins are the same height. Tom is lanky where Kitty is slender. Kitty likes to steal Tom’s clothes, sometimes she’d be dressed up in trousers and some shirt so really I thought _he_ was Kitty because I hadn’t known she had a _twin_ (I knew she had a brother but she never mentioned that Tom was her twin. Her _twin_ , can you believe it? And she neglected to mention it to me!). 

But, yes, as I was saying. I knew I was staring at a stranger because of the way he was looking at me. At that point, I’d known Kitty nearly three years and I was thus familiar with the way she looked at me. You’d think it clichéd but it’s true. There is no mistaking the way Kitty’s eyes would brighten at the sight of me (or really at the sight of anything she likes). But there is this feeling that I’ve come to associate with Kitty, and so I recognize her because when she looks at me, it feels as though I’ve been captured. It feels as though I am _there_.

When Tom had looked at me he only seemed curious, cautious even, perhaps a touch amused. He carried a familiar face but he was a stranger, somehow rougher and infinitely unknown.

I asked him— _Are you Kitty’s brother?_ — and, yes, in hindsight, it was a rather stupid question. Of course, he did end up surprising me because he suddenly called me by my nickname like he knew exactly who I was: _Oh, you must be Ellie!_ he’d exclaimed. And then I think I was rather ecstatic when he said something along the lines of _Kit talks a lot about you_. _Does she have any other friends? I would always wonder. Because she keeps talking about that Ellie kid who calls her Kitty even though everyone knows how much she hates that name_. Of course, when I heard that comment, my heart sunk. Thinking back, I think it was rather silly that I started doubting Kitty’s friendship, thinking that she was only tolerating me because she was too nice to let me down (Kitty is, in fact, never too nice and will never pass up the chance to give someone a piece of her mind). 

I think I was pouting because Tom had been quick to assure me. _Don’t worry_ , I can’t remember if he was chuckling or simply trying to keep his tone light, _She likes you so she lets you call her that_. I would like to note that _only_ I can call her that. I don’t think I stopped pouting because he started teasing me (which wasn’t so bad because his eyes lit up rather beautifully), _Besides_ , I think he said, _How could she not like you anyway?_ That was the exact moment I decided that Tom could be very charming and we became fast friends. I think Kitty may have been put off by how easily I warmed up to Tom, then again, it may have been because the two of us liked to team up and tease her. Sometimes I like to flatter myself and think she was jealous or mad that I was replacing her. Kitty didn’t like it very much when I told her Tom reminded me very much of her.


	7. September 23, 1951

[Below is an excerpt from the film _Elisa and Kit_ (2014); based on sources about artist Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton’s life, including her diaries, correspondences, and interviews, as well as her biography which was written by her son David Houghton. The event depicted in the scene is taken largely from a dairy entry dated September 23, 1951.]

* * *

 

**EXT. FRONT OF FADERMAN ACADEMY**

Young Elisabeth is chatting happily with one of her schoolmates. Soon enough, she trails off, distracted, her gaze going beyond her schoolmate. She stares long enough that her friend notices and turns to look. The camera pans to the direction the two girls are looking at. There is boy standing beneath the shade and leaning against the tree. His gaze is trained towards the students walking out of Faderman, he seems to be waiting for someone. The boy, seemingly sensing the gaze of the two students, suddenly looks their way. Elisabeth startles but stares for a beat longer before turning to her friend with a look of wonder.

 

ELISABETH

Is that Kitty? Did she get a new cut?

 

SCHOOLMATE

Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you be the

first to know if she decided to hack all her hair off?

 

ELISABETH

Don’t you think she looks nice with hair like that?

 

SCHOOLMATE

No! It would be a waste, you know! She has such thick and

and long hair. And they’re so blonde too! I’m positively jealous.

I wish my hair was like that. But my hair is all brown and dry and

my mother says they’re so sparse like I’m balding.

 

ELISABETH

I think she looks nice. Oh! I think your hair is lovely too!

 

The schoolmate elects to ignore Elisabeth's hurried compliment. With her fingers still absentmindedly twisting at the ends of her hair, she directs her gaze to the Kitty look-alike and chastises Elisabeth.

 

SCHOOLMATE

Ellie, don’t be strange! And that’s not even Kitty.

 

Elisabeth ignores her friend and pushes past her. There is a huff of indignation from the other girl, which Elisabeth also ignores. Elisabeth starts walking towards the boy, determination fuels her steps and burns in her eyes. When the boy catches sight of her walking towards him, he startles. His expression is a cross between shy, curious, and intimidated.

 

ELISABETH

You’re not Kitty. So you must be her brother.

 

The boy looks speechless for a few moments, mouth hanging open. Then, his eyes widen with dawning realization and recognition.

 

THOMAS

Wait, you’re that Ellie gal! I’m Thomas!

 

Elisabeth looks confused and wary. Thomas, on the other hand, is brightening with a grin.

 

ELISABETH

How do you know who I am… Thomas?

 

THOMAS

I’m Kit’s twin brother.

 

Elisabeth looks disappointed for reasons Thomas cannot seem to place. Trying not to let the awkwardness settle, he thrusts out his hand for handshake, Elisabeth stares at the offer before reaching out to shake it cautiously. Thomas begins speaking again, this time with renewed enthusiasm.

 

THOMAS

Kit talks about you a lot. I mean, a lot a lot. She

almost never shuts up about you at all when she

gets home for break. It’s always Ellie this and Ellie

that.

 

Elisabeth looks stunned but pleased. She is smiling now.

 

THOMAS

I still can’t believe she lets you call her Kitty though!

I’m here twin and she won’t even let me call her that.

Her twin! Can you believe it? I tried it once but she

pushed me out of the swing so I stopped. She hates it,

you know?

 

ELISABETH

Oh. I…

 

Elisabeth’s smile has faded entirely. She looks completely devastated. It doesn’t seem like she’s about to cry, but Thomas appears to panic anyhow. He backtracks and tries to assure you.

 

THOMAS

Don’t worry, Ellie! Kit doesn’t mind at all if you call

her Kitty. I think she quite likes it. At least I know

she likes you very much.

 

ELISABETH

She does?

 

THOMAS

Of course she does! How could she not?

 

ELISABETH

Because I’m annoying and I call her Kitty.

 

THOMAS

Don’t be silly. Kit is very fond of you. I know because

we’re twins. So, I can tell we’ll be great friends too!


	8. May 30, 1957

**May 30, 1957**

Two days ago I woke up in the barn. When I woke up my clothes weren’t on right. I smelled like wet hay and horse manure and blood. It was my blood. My forearms and wrists are still bruised from how hard he’d gripped them as he dragged me. He slapped me to quiet me down. It stung badly but it wasn’t such a hard hit that there were any bruising. His fists came flying at me but I tried to keep my arms up and I tried twisting away. There are bruises in other places beneath my clothes. Blood too. I am hurting everywhere and in places where I shouldn’t be. My throat hurts from when he tried to strangle me. There are marks so I’ve been using a kerchief to hide it. I told mama I was just trying a new fashion trend. My throat is sore and my voice is hoarse. I cried and screamed a lot but I didn’t tell mama that, I just told her I might’ve been getting a cold. I don’t know how to tell mama how he’d been muffling my screams so she wouldn’t hear us from the house. I don’t know if she’ll believe me. He’s sweet and sometimes even a touch meek but he was so angry. I don’t know what I did wrong but he was so angry. He said he was just doing it so I would become normal. I’ve been mostly staying with the Houghtons. Mama trusts Kitty and Tom so she lets me stay over after I’ve done my morning chores. I don’t want to go home. I don’t know what to tell mama. I don’t want to hurt her.4

* * *

Footnote(s):

4 - It appears as though there was an attempt to erase the contents of the entry. It’s nearly difficult to make out the entire text. The entry is reconstructed to be as close as possible to the original entry.

 


	9. May 28, 1960

**May 28, 1960**

Thomas proposed to me earlier today.

I said yes, of course. I love Thomas after all, and there is no better man to marry. My mother tells me few people are lucky enough to marry their best friend, yet here I am. (Kitty will be mad if she hears me agreeing with mama. I should be your best friend, she will say. Because you’ve known me longer! Well, Kitty, I would chastise her, I’m sure you understand that I can’t marry you. Hah! Can you even imagine? Oh, mama will faint, surely.)

I believe it’s an incredible thing that Thomas chose this very day to propose. He told me he wanted this day to bear good memories from here on out. As always, Thomas is wonderfully thoughtful. I still have nightmares, albeit they are nightmares without images. I remember the pain and the soreness. I remember the smell of blood and sweat and hay. I remember the stench of horse manure and musk. There are nights when I wake up, choking and gasping, the memory of hands wrapped around my neck is very vivid. The nightmare chases me even as I greet the conscious world. My heart is a battering ram in my chest. I am choking too, on my sobs and my tears.

I despise Uncle Nick, but when I try to think of him all I can remember is the image of my mother’s sweet, little brother. I remember a hardworking man. I remember a man who stood tall and proud despite having one shorter leg. I remember the man who carried me on his shoulders when my father couldn’t. I remember a the man who gave me gifts and took care of Cliff when he was sick. My nightmare is shrouded in shadows but I cannot forget what he did. All these good memories will never overshadow how much I’ve come to despise him.

I don’t like thinking about Uncle Nick or what he’d done. I would rather not think about the horrid history this day bears, but here I am, writing about it because it’s all I can think of now. Thomas meant well but his thoughtfulness dug up memories and musings that should have remained untouched and forgotten.

I see flashes. Uncle Nick’s fury. Uncle Nick’s fist coming towards me fast. I can hear the cacophony of his furious growls and vehement admonitions mixing with my muffled screams of terror. I can almost feel his weight pressing against me. The flashes become an overwhelming force that seeps through my pores and penetrate my lungs. The world is suddenly so, so, so distant and muddled as though I’ve been submerged into water. When I try to inhale, the air feels like liquid fire.

I think about the cautious tenderness in Thomas’s eyes today and it becomes blurred with the memory of his worry and his outrage. I’d never seen Thomas so angry in my life. He was always quiet and calm, but he’d exploded then. I wish I never had to see him like that. He’d always been the level-headed one because Kitty tended to be reckless. Lord, Thomas took one look at me and suddenly he was ready to fight the world. It scared me. Uncle Nick had been the same— kind and quiet, secretly harboring an ugly monster.

Thomas is not Uncle Nick. He does not have a brutish side waiting to be provoked and unleashed. Apart from that night, I’ve never heard Thomas raise his voice or attempt to raise his hand against anyone again. He has always been patient and calm—unlike the other boys, he was never mean and he never played rough—that night had truly been an anomaly for the years have only made Thomas more compassionate. He’s an honorable man, mama says and he reminds her of my father. Thomas would protect the people he loves even if it might bring harm to himself. I suppose that’s why he’d been so ready to jump into the fray.

Thomas is my protector. Kitty, however, is my safe haven. Truthfully, nothing compares to my memory of Kitty that night. Uncle Nick I have forced away from the light of remembrance while Thomas simply fades into the blackness of fading memories. I remember Kitty most of all. She is my breath of fresh air in the memory that seeks to pull me under, the buoyancy that pushes me to break the surface. Even now I am thinking about Kitty. Though I am happy about being engaged to Thomas, I am much more excited to see Kitty after such a long time.

[Analysis show that the ink used here is different in the succeeding part of the entry. Scholars hypothesized that the earlier part had been written in the afternoon. Somewhere between Bentley’s lunch date with Mr. Houghton and their picnic with his sister. The latter part may have been written that night. Katherine had been in town only upon her brother’s request. Prior to this, she had been traveling across Southern America. Miss Houghton stayed in Bentley’s apartment for a week before leaving to resume her travels. As Bentley is known to write many of her diary entries during odd hours at night, scholars believe that the succeeding entry may have been written when Miss Houghton was already asleep.]

Let me tell you something, about Kitty:

When you look into her eyes, you see the summer sky. They are so very bright and sometimes you can’t stand to look too long. But— _but_ while she can be blinding, her gaze also holds so much warmth. When Kitty loves you, you know it. It’s in the way she looks at you. It’s written in the way her eyes shine and in the way she smiles. If you ask Thomas, he’ll know what I’m saying. Ask anyone with sense enough to know they’re loved by Kitty and they will tell you exactly how damned lucky they are.

Lucky enough that I feel as though I’ve become too selfish because I want Kitty all to myself.

Of course, growing up together, I’ve always had to share her with Thomas (other people simply don’t matter enough). Yet I can’t really say Thomas counts, can I? They’re twins, after all, and the siblings likely share a bond that I could only hope to understand. Thomas has known Kitty all his life, and who am I? I’m just some girl who bugged her so much she had no other choice but to say yes. My mother was right, I was persistent. I don’t think Kitty counted on meeting someone who could be more stubborn than she was.

I remember asking her a million questions a hundred miles an hour. What was she reading? Even though I already knew. What did she think about Tilly’s new dress? Even though neither of us cared. Did she understand the arithmetics question? Even though I didn’t really need any help. Do you like my drawing? Even though a lot of the things I showed her looked like chicken scratch. And, of course, Can I call you Kitty? Asked a thousand times until I wore her down. 

Kitty always humored me. She was rash but she exhibited such patience with me. It’s silly, but sometimes I wonder if Kitty thinks I’m a burden. Would she rather be rid of me? Is she already tired of me? What if I’m easily replaceable? What if she doesn’t think of me as highly as I think of her? What if I love her more than she loves me? Such questions plague me for I hold Kitty dear to my heart.

Even though I know I’m being silly, my anxiety has only gotten worse over the years. Kitty is out there traveling the world, and here I am, stuck mostly within the boundaries of New York. I get so easily and terribly jealous. Not of Kitty and her travels, of course, I’m very happy for her on that note. I get jealous, rather, of the people she meets, her new friends. I feel as though she is pulling away and I’m terrified I might lose her well and truly someday.

Thankfully, she never fails to send me (and Thomas) letters. I love it when she talks about the sights she visits, even the people she meets, and the little adventures that happens along the way. It makes me feel close to her still despite the distance between us. Believe me when I say I am _very_ aware (and rather conscious) of how ridiculous it sounds when I say I’m jealous of her new friends. It isn’t as though I haven’t met many new acquaintances in the art gallery or in the company that I do bookkeeping for. Thomas has told me a handful of times that I’m acting like a jealous lover, and for whatever reason, he finds it incredibly hilarious. The glint in Thomas's eyes tells me he knows something that I don't and that thought chews at my gut. Whenever I try to shush him he reminds me about the incident with a certain Miss Ginny Wolfe (he has never let me forget about that).

It happened as such: once I’d written Kitty demanding she stop talking about Miss Ginny Wolfe. She spent so many letters talking about her and it irked me! I take care to keep all of Kitty’s letters but I nearly threw those letters away. Thomas saved them from the bin and advised me to write to Kitty about my “jealous woes.” So, I did. 

> [Below is an excerpt of the aforementioned letter written by Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton to Katherine Houghton. Copy retrieved from collection of the Bentley-Houghton family, with expressed permission from the current owner, David Houghton.]
> 
> Katherine Ann! I want to hear about you and I do not care for your Ginny girl. I have five letters, Katherine, _FIVE WHOLE LETTERS ABOUT GINNY WOLFE NEARLY TWENTY PAGES IN TOTAL_. Perhaps you could regal me with your misadventures instead. Send me pages you’ve ripped from some book (you won’t do that, I know) or even a dozen different brochures. I don’t care as long as I don’t hear about Ginny Wolfe ever again. All I’m asking you is this—will you kindly stop filling three pages of letters about her and write to me about something else, _or not write at all!_
> 
> (If you ever introduce her to us, however, I promise to act civil and pretend I do not know how many strokes she brushes her hair at night, in the morning and in the afternoon; or how she likes to take her tea; or that I haven’t memorized at least five of her catchphrases.)

[Below is the continuation of diary entry dated May 28, 1960.]

She teased me in her next letter, of course. _Don’t worry, dear Ellie, you’re still the one I love most_. Thankfully, she did stop talking about that Ginny girl. I’d still read her name here and there, occasionally, but Kitty talked about her as much as she talked about a few other people (which is to say,an adequate amount). Mostly, Kitty stuck to her adventures and shenanigans. She sent pictures and postcards when she could too.

When I think about it now, I feel as though I'd over reacted. Neither Kitty nor Thomas is letting me live it down. I met Miss Wolfe, she’s very lovely and impossibly polite and with an air of mystery I can’t place. Kitty was incredibly fond of her (even if the twenty pages worth of GW letters aren’t enough, her fondness was irksomely obvious). Miss Wolfe, however, bought two of my paintings so I’ve no choice but to grudgingly like her (and truly because it’s impossible to hate her anyhow).

Honestly, I wonder if I’d gotten too used to having Kitty all to myself. I am very selfish, aren’t I? It’s as though I haven’t grown up at all. I’m still that child who was so caught up thinking that Kitty was hers alone. I’m still the same little girl I was over a decade ago, but the world has turned for Kitty. It pains me to admit, but I think I’ve already been left behind.

I can’t help it. I can't help but be jealous. Kitty has always been there. A constant presence, a splash of color in an otherwise bleak life. I’m proud that she’s seeing the world because it truly is amazing! But I miss her terribly. I think I didn’t realize how much until I saw her again today. It’s been months and all I’ve had of her were letters and pictures. I’ve missed having her close. I didn’t realize how terrified I’d been of Kitty slipping away and finally leaving me behind until I saw her today. And she smiled that smile that lit up her whole face. And her eyes! My God, it sounds stupid, but I’ve missed seeing her eyes. I’ve forgotten that anyone could look at me and make me feel as Kitty do. As though I'm so, so, _so_ utterly loved.

They say the eyes are the windows to one’s soul. I agree, and let me tell you, Kitty’s eyes are proof.

I wrote earlier today that Kitty makes everything about _that night_ disappear into the background.

I’d known Kitty long enough, _well_ enough, that I could see as well as I could feel how different Kitty had been the night I came to her house, bloodied, bruised, and crying. It was palpable, blatant. She was so tensed you could almost see how she trembled with barely restrained anger. You could see how her jaw worked as she gritted her teeth. And her eyes! They were colder, colder than I’d ever seen them and glinting like steel. They were almost stormy, rendered dark by the silent fury that simmered beneath her skin. Whereas Thomas’s outburst scared me, Kitty’s silent rage fascinated me. I knew in my heart that Thomas would have fought the world that night had I asked him to, but with Kitty, it had been different. It had felt as though the only thing keeping her from setting the world on fire was her unwillingness to leave me.

I couldn’t go home. I didn’t want to. I was too scared of Uncle Nick and I was too ashamed to face my mother. It hurt to move but I walked all the way to Kitty’s home because I knew she would understand. I knew she wouldn’t ask. I was right, of course. It was Thomas who’d asked the questions so Kitty made him leave. Kitty took me to the bathroom and helped me clean up, she even took care of my wounds and bruises.

She gave me her clothes to wear, I remember that it smelled really nice, like lavender or maybe something sweeter. The cloth felt very soft against my skin and it was loose on me.

Kitty took me to her room, saying I needed to get some sleep. She even tucked me in. She got ready to leave, but then there was that hesitance again. She hovered by the door, hand on the doorknob but not opening it yet. Kitty was facing me but her gaze was set far away. She looked terribly sad that I'd wanted to get up and comfort her. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I asked her to stay.

I felt empty. I felt cold and utterly terrified. Kitty didn’t touch me until I asked her to. She was careful as she moved to wrap her arms around me. When Kitty hugged me, it felt like the first moment when the ice starts melting in the setting of spring. It felt like I could breathe again. Her warmth grounded me. I think she may have pressed a kiss on the crown of my head, but I don’t remember. What I remember, however, is how gentle her touch had been. Her hands had been unbearably soft as she stroked patterns against my back. I reveled in holding her close, in being tucked so close against her that I could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat against my cheek as much as I could hear it. Despite what happened, I felt safe. As long as Kitty held me, I would be okay.


	10. May 28, 1957

**May 28, 1957**

I told them I didn’t know who hurt me. Thomas kept asking so Kitty made him leave. He started to argue so she dragged him out of the room. Kitty stayed with me last night. She promised me that Thomas would protect us. I told her that Uncle Nick is taller and scarier and bigger than Thomas, but Kitty said that didn’t matter. Thomas will be in the other room and he’ll beat up anyone who tries to hurt me again, she said. I’ll be okay as long as you stay with me, Kitty. I think that’s what I told her.

And then she started crying. I’m sorry he hurt you, she told me. Kitty never cries. She was shaking so hard or maybe I was the one who was shaking. She was holding me very close that I don’t remember whose limbs were whose. I told her I was going to be okay, and Thomas doesn’t need to beat anyone up. I told Kitty that I only needed her. Uncle Nick said that Kitty was bad for me because she would turn me into a freak. He’s wrong. Kitty is my friend and she cares about me. She won’t hurt me, not like he has anyway. Kitty is my family, not him.


	11. August 4, 1965

**August 4, 1965**

I’ve always wondered why they called it “making love.”

When Davey was born, I thought I finally understood why. We “made love” because at the end of it we’d made this precious and beautiful child. Of course, it was a very trying ordeal— _all of it_ —but hearing Davey cry for the first time was magical. I could almost forgive nature for making everything so difficult. I was tired and sweaty and bloody, all but ready to pass out, but when I finally got to hold my son in my arms, everything just felt right, peaceful. It was the first time I’d ever felt that sort of calm washing over me since my marriage. My thoughts, for once, were quiet. It felt as though the world had started moving forward again.

Of course, when I divulge these little musings of mine to Kitty, she laughed at me. She called me innocent! _Me_. Damn her! Tell me, truly, is there anything so beautiful, so artistic, _so sublime_ to sweat covered skin? To ragged, heavy breathes and shaking hips? What about that is “making love”? What else is there apart from the grunts of men and bed? It’s nothing but false intimacy! If not for the birth of my son, what about it was “making love”?

Kitty is so damned infuriating sometimes! Oh, and then she softened, which was much worse! Her gaze became exasperatingly gentle it made me itch to bolt out of my seat and run. She was looking at me with this sort of wonder, you know? Then a smile found its way on her lips, full of affection and amusement like— _like she was indulging a child!_ The nerve! I would have loved that smile if it didn’t make me feel so foolish!

But, teasing aside, there was something else in her gaze, something sadder and more subdued, there was a question there I knew she wanted to ask but didn’t know how to. I knew what the question was. In our different ways, Kitty and I shared the pain behind those unspoken words. I took Kitty’s hand in mine and squeezed it. I told her that I was okay.

And then she tells me her answer; and here is one of those moments that never fail to amaze me, for sometimes I forget that Kitty is capable of poeticisms too. I’ve tried to capture her words as best as I can remember:

 _Darling Ellie_ , she begun, her voice soft as a feather, _we say it is making love because there is more to those_ _actions_

 _than mechanical movements and physicality. There is more to it than simply being an obligation to fulfill_.

 _It is emotion and passion_ , she said, _transcending its abstract form, materializing_

_in every touch of trembling fingertips and exploring hands, in every kiss, in every breath and sigh,_

_in every thunderous heartbeat._

I was entranced. Her voice pervaded my senses, I was lost in her eyes, and I was much too aware of the way her thumb absentmindedly stroked the back of my hand, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I’d always known Kitty to be passionate. She is an uncontainable force whether she’s fighting off bullies, or talking about going on adventures,  or her favorite kind of jelly, or how much she loves spring, or how fast she can run, or how much she dislikes Thomas’s snoring.

I realized, then, that I’d never really felt her passion so intimately until that moment. It felt as though her words had taken form and they were caressing me, lulling me to listen with their gentle cadence.

Kitty, of course, had to break the moment. She jerked away from me as though my touch burned, then she laughed at herself rather awkwardly. I would like to note the adorable flush that graced her cheeks for it is a rare occurrence (that I’d like to see more of). She waved her hand as though to banish the unseen tendrils of her words that clung to me.

 _Maybe I’ve become sentimental over the years_ , she said, trying to make light of it even though her eyes retained the gravity. Of course, I’m being rather poetic about it now but when it was happening I was thinking to myself— How dare this woman tell me about laying with a man when she herself has not yet married! I hadn’t even known her to fancy any of the men she’d told me about in her letters. Of course, then I’d panicked and wondered if she had a beau that neither I nor Thomas knew about. And I [the last two words are struck out and the sentence is left unfinished].

I was surprised to catch myself overwhelmed by jealous rage. I’ve seen women getting flirty with Thomas and I’ve simply laughed it off. It’s not that I don’t care that women flirt with him, it’s more like I’m amused by how awkward and adorable Thomas is when he’s fending off the advances of unwanted women. I like to tease him about it, much to his chagrin. The point is, I’ve never been a jealous wife. I thought it was because I’d known Thomas for so long that I’d simply given him my utmost trust that he would never stray. Lo and behold, me: at the thought of Kitty possibly having a beau, I was ready to strangle an imaginary man that could be twice my size just because I thought he was involved with my best friend! (Suddenly that whole incident with GW made more sense!)

It was, I suppose, in that moment that I’d witness a revelation— one, may I add, that prophets of old would surely envy. The revelation settled in my chest even as my heart thundered against my ribs in exhilarated wonder. As I sat there, staring wordlessly at Kitty, something simply clicked into place. It felt as though the waves that had once been threatening to engulf me had suddenly transformed into gently rocking tides that carried me towards the shores of home.

I think I’d stared at Kitty for too long because her cheeks had turned a rosier hue and she’d started stammering again. With my eyes, I traced the slope of her nose, beautiful and crooked after she broke it flying off her bike years ago. I traced the curve of her lips, which seemed to me full and inviting. I took in the faded scar on her chin, the one on  her cheek bone just below her right eye, and the one that split her left eye brow unevenly. These were her trophies from all the bullies she’d taken on. I marveled at the slight blush on her cheeks and how I can still see the freckles dotting her face despite the light tan she’d earned for all her days under the sun. She was utterly breathtaking. When my gaze finally landed on her eyes, that’s when it dawned on me that those were the hues I’d been longing for all this time. The familiar blues that I’d gotten to know before Thomas’s storm-dark ones. The gaze that brought me comfort and peace before Davey’s golden-flecked blue eyes. 

Kitty’s eyes are the color of the fringes where summer sky meets devouring ocean.5 They were bright and warm and ever holding that gleam of mischief. Suddenly I am remembering all the moments when I would be filled with unconditional trust and wondrous adoration simply because I had held her gaze. Even as I think of all those countless moments, it still felt as though I was only, truly, seeing her in that moment.

Even now, as I am writing this, the memory sweeps me away as I recall my breathless wonder. My chest is aching so sweetly. I never thought it was possible to feel this. I didn’t know I could feel this way till now; so giddy and happy and alive!

Is this why Uncle Nick was so furious? Had he seen the depth of my affection for Kitty then? Before I had even realized it existed? What did he say? That Kitty was some sort of evil bitch? And she was unnatural and would turn me into a freak? Oh, dear Lord. Is _that_ what Tilly had been going on about when our school closed down? Poor Miss Beaty! Poor Miss Audi! _This_ is what they went to court for? The mere _possibility_ that one of both of them could have felt this way? And on the word of some child who was probably making up a story, no less! Is this warmth, this endearment truly so damning?

Oh, if you could have been me when Kitty’s fingers found its way on the inside of my wrist.

My heart felt as though it would explode and I couldn’t hear anything save for the sound of my breath and Kitty softly whispering my name. Surely, _surely_ , she must have felt my pulse racing. She held my gaze, ever steady and ever sure. In her eyes I saw the blue skies that my mother and I used to gaze at when we dreamt about our future.

Kitty was already so close, but she leaned even closer still; dizzyingly close until all I could see was sky blue. I felt my breath hitching in my throat and anticipation curling in the pit of my stomach. I leaned in too,terribly conscious of what was happening, my eyes almost fluttering shut. For a moment, I thought she would kiss me. The nervousness dancing in my belly was exhilarating. It was starkly different from the anxiousness and uncertainty that gnawed at me when Thomas kissed me for the first time.

Part of me, rather desperately, wanted Kitty to kiss me. _I_ wanted to kiss her. Neither of us moved, however, both of us likely aware of the fact that I was married to _her brother_. In the end, we broke apart. I love Thomas and I respect him, as does Kitty. Neither of us would do anything to betray his trust or hurt him. But then, even without bothering with the words, I new she and I had come to an understanding.

Even though Kitty didn’t kiss me, I was left breathless. When she pulled away, I pretended I couldn’t feel her touch linger. But, writing this, I remember it now: the memory of her fingers on my wrist, burning against my skin and spreading like wildfire.

* * *

Footnote(s):

5 - A piece of paper is taped to the end of the diary entry. It is a beautifully drawn pair of eyes, detailed and realistic and rendered with watercolor. Below it is written, “I gazed into her eyes and saw the wonders of the world.”

 


	12. January 21, 1968

**January 21, 1968**

Perhaps the most ironic thing I will ever experience in my life is how easy it had been to love Thomas. [The line is crossed out.]

Loving Thomas was not easy. It was, however, simple. Thomas was everything that Kitty wasn’t. With Thomas, I learned how infinitely simpler it was to love someone you neither yearned nor ached for. My love for Kitty, contrarily, tormented me. It was something that, for the longest time, was unknown to me, and later held unspeakable. Loving Kitty confused me to my sanity’s end and thus made loving Thomas difficult. I was in limbo, always wondering why I could not reciprocate much less approximate the magnitude of his love. How was it that, even though I did not desire Thomas as I should have as his wife, Kitty could inflame me with teasing words and innocent, even accidental touches?

I have never ached for Thomas until now. I miss him. I would walk into Davey’s room and expect him to be there playing with our son. I would walk into the living room and expect to see him on the couch with his books and his paperworks. I would walk into the kitchen in the morning and expect to see him with a mug of that coffee he loved to prepare. I can feel the emptiness of the spaces he used to occupy so acutely. I can barely even imagine how Kitty must feel losing him. Davey doesn’t fully comprehend his father’s passing but he is as somber as the rest of us.

My God, Thomas was too young. A heart attack? He’s barely thirty-four I can barely wrap my head around it. Thomas had a thousand more dreams he wanted to fulfill. There were still countless moments we could’ve spent together. Years he could’ve spent laughing at Kitty’s latest misadventure, or having picnics with me in the park, or helping me out of a slump when my creativity fails me and I can’t paint, or raising Davey with me and helping him become someone proud but compassionate, honest and kind. I may have loved Kitty in a way I could not love Thomas, but I’d dreamt with him of a future where we’d walk side by side as best friends, as husband and wife, as mother and father to our son. We were a team and we could face the world. I am choking now on the ashes of those dissipated dreams and future impossibilities.

Davey is barely five years old. He’s only a little older than me when I lost my own father. My own memories of my father is scant. I was young and he was away fighting a war he eventually lost his life for. My memories of him are lacking but I do have stories. Stories and memories carefully woven and told by my mother so that my father never ceased to remain in our hearts and in foundations of the home he built.

I am grateful for the years I’d been given with Thomas for now I have a hundred stories of him that I could tell Davey. Kitty herself will be there with me to tell those stories and more.

Kitty has recently informed me of her desire to “settle down.” She will stay with me, she said, she has had enough adventures (for now, I wagered). Kitty is adamant; my stubborn and immovable force of a woman. When she has her eyes set on something, she will see it through no matter what (once, when we were fifteen or sixteen she swore she was going to beat Steve, this big bully two years older than us, in a wrestling match and she did, everyone was appropriately scandalized, Thomas and I were rather terrified but pleased).

And so Kitty will stay here in Brooklyn with me to help raise Davey. I can think of no better way to honor Thomas’s memory. I think he would have been proud.


	13. February 17, 1968

**February 17, 1968**

Kitty kissed me today for the first time. [The sentence appears to be hastily scrawled out.]

I kissed Kitty today for the first time.


	14. June 5, 1968

**June 5, 1968**

People are vicious. They gossip and whisper behind my back. There’s that word again, _unnatural_ , spat behind my back like poison. People that Thomas and I had once considered friends are now the very snakes hissing behind mine and Kitty’s backs. They talk about Thomas as though he weren’t my dearest friend; as though I had never respected him as my husband or as the father of our son; _as though I’d never loved him_.

I’ve finally showed my true colors, they say. Now that Thomas is gone, I am finally and completely lost because there is no one to lay a firm hand on me and keep me away from sin. If I had a penny for every time somebody had made even the vaguest comment about finding a new husband who will keep me in line, I would be rich enough to throw a fistful of pennies to their faces, without care, to shush them every time. Damn them all.

I swear to God, someone did come up to me and asked me how else would I be saved from the me from the "vile throes of _unnatural_ passion" without a husband?Who will come to “whisk me away from the sinful twilight life?” — I would have laughed then if I weren’t so incensed. They sounded like a horribly written lesbian pulp novel come to life.

They are wrong, anyhow, Uncle Nick had tried the stick on me and it didn't work. I still grew to realize the depth of my passion and adoration for Kitty.

I cannot fathom how loving anyone could ever be considered unnatural and abhorrent. Who is the true monster if not the one who hurts their neighbor with unkind words and prejudices?


	15. July 5, 1967

**July 5, 1967**

[Below is an excerpt from the screenplay for the film _Elisa and Kit_ (2014) based on sources about artist Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton’s life, including her diaries, correspondences, and interviews, as well as her biography which was written by her son David Houghton. The event depicted in the scene is taken largely from a diary entry dated July 5, 1967.]

* * *

 

**INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT**

Elisabeth is sitting on the couch, head cast down, ashamed. She is wringing her hands together. Thomas is kneeling in front of her, eyes shining with concern. He takes her hands in her gently as though trying to assuage her anxiety.

 

THOMAS

I’ve always known about Kit. She never told me,

but I knew anyway.

 

Thomas laughs. The sound is soft but filled with fondness. Elisabeth’s widening gaze falls on Thomas’s face.

 

THOMAS

Don’t be so surprised, El. I’m her twin, after all.

 

Thomas winks. He grins at Elisabeth, the smile makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, his expression is open and caring. Elisabeth remains silent. Hesitation and uncertainty is evident on her face. Seeing her worry, Thomas continues to speak, voice dropping to a whisper, gentle yet filled with conviction.

 

THOMAS

El, I never stopped loving my sister. I won’t stop

loving you either. Do you understand me?

 

Despite the affection in Thomas’s voice and countenance, guilt makes Elisabeth’s voice tremble. She speaks so softly it’s almost surprising that Thomas still manages to hear her. Tears make her eyes shine bright but she does not tear her gaze away from Thomas.

 

ELISABETH

I love her, Thomas.

 

THOMAS

I know.

 

ELISABETH

But I love you too.

 

THOMAS

I know that too and I’m glad. But, darling, I know

your love for Kit is different.

 

At his words, Elisabeth’s tears finally fall. She cries, head falling down in shame, her shoulders are shaking. Thomas lets go of her hands only to wrap his arms around her. He holds her, unwavering. Elisabeth seems to calm at the sound of Thomas’s heartbeat. They pull away a short distance but Thomas does not completely let go of Elisabeth. His hands are gentle against her forearms. Tears continue to fall from Elisabeth’s eyes. There are tears in Thomas’s eyes as well.

 

ELISABETH

I’m sorry.

 

THOMAS

Does Kit make you happy, Ellie?

 

ELISABETH

Impossibly. Wonderfully.

 

THOMAS

Will you promise me that you will make my sister

happy? That you will support her no matter what.

That you will stand by Kit and make sure she knows

how loved she is regardless of what the world throws

your way?

 

As he is saying these words, Thomas wipes away the tears that fall from Elisabeth’s eyes. Elisabeth herself is wiping away the tears the wet Thomas’s cheeks.

 

ELISABETH

I vow, Thomas.

 

THOMAS

For better and for worse? For richer and for poorer?

In sickness and in health? Do you promise to love Kit

and to cherish her?

 

ELISABETH

I do, Thomas. Forever and always.

 

After a moment, Thomas breaks into a brilliant and genuinely happy smile. Elisabeth smiles as well and although her smile is smaller it is no less genuine; although she appears subdued, it does not diminish the gratefulness and admiration that radiates from her.

 

THOMAS

Then I believe there’s nothing to be sorry about, El.

You have given me a beautiful son. You have made our

house a warm and wonderful home. You are brilliant and

talented and you have filled my life with much color

and beauty. You have been a great and true friend and

I couldn’t have been any luckier to have been able to call

myself your husband.

 

He kisses her forehead.

 

THOMAS

I love you.

 

ELISABETH

And I you, Thomas.

* * *

 

**[Below is an excerpt from a diary entry dated July 5, 1967]**

Thomas wrapped his arms around me and held me in a fierce embrace. I could feel all his love and the acceptance in the warmth that seeped into my skin. The moment seemed to last forever until he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me on my forehead. When he pulled away, finally and completely, it felt like goodbye. Deep in my soul, I could feel him letting me go.

Although I’d been worried about losing Thomas, he was the one who filled me with hope. He even managed to joke about how fortuitous it was that I’d fallen in love with his sister because while I was his wife in name he could call me “Mrs. Houghton, the wife of lovely sister, Katherine Ann Houghton.” After a while, and some bickering with Kitty, he conceded that it might sound better to say that we would be “Mrs. and Mrs. Bentley-Houghton.” It’s a nice thing to dream about.

When Davey woke up from his nap, he was in a decidedly good mood. Although, admittedly, he’s never been a fussy babe. I brought Davey into the living room where Tom was drafting some paperwork. It was a delight, as it always has been, to see Thomas brightening at the sound of his son gurgling with laughter. His paperwork was left forgotten on the coffee table as he began playing ridiculous game of peek-a-boo with our son. My heart swelled with affection at the sight of them.

Later we went out to meet Kitty in the park. Thomas carried Davey on his shoulders, father and son making sounds of airplanes flying as we walked. I was watching them fondly when I saw Kitty from the corner of my eyes. When I turned, she was there in our favorite spot beneath the oak tree. She was waving and grinning. A bit of an excited bounce found its way in my steps and I grinned back, feeling like an excited schoolgirl once more at the sight of her.

Fear is a darkness that sits at the periphery of my vision, but there is hope too and it burns brightly and fiercely. It chases away the darkness that threatens to overwhelm me. Although there is still some anxiety pitter-pattering in my chest, it is eclipsed by the love that fills me.

Dear diary, today was a good today. Tomorrow, I believe, will be even better.

 


	16. June 26, 2004

[ **Source:** Found in one of Elisabeth’s Bentley-Houghton’s diaries, a piece of paper carefully folded. A light perfume still lingers. Along with the paper are pressed violets. On the paper is a short letter from Katherine Houghton.]

* * *

 

My darling one,

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve dreamt of going on great adventures. You and Tommy supported those dreams, pushed me to make them come true. Because of you, I got to see the world. Even so: despite all the places I’ve been to, despite all the people I’ve met, despite everything I've gotten to experience—

Being with you, Ellie, has been the greatest adventure of all. It continues to be so even after all this time. I love you, dearest heart. It astounds me even to this day how truly lucky I am to be so loved by you.

You are my best friend, my soul’s beloved,and the unrivaled keeper of my heart.

Thank you for giving me the chance to love you. For giving me a chance to raise a family with you even as the world frowned upon us and spat in our faces. Thank you, dearest Ellie, for making me the happiest.

Ever yours—

Your wife, Kit

_PS I shall never tire of calling myself your wife, nor you mine._

 


	17. finis

**“someone will remember us / I say / even in another time” (Sappho, Fragment 147, trans. Anne Carson)**


	18. Afterword

Afterword

(or, as I like to call it: Easter Eggs and Notes)

(or, as I like to _further_ call it: The end of the simulacra)

  * On the three main characters, and their names:


    * Elisabeth Bentley-Houghton
      * The diary is written from her point of view. The name Elisabeth Bentley was inspired by the name “Lisa Ben,” a pen name of Edith Eyde, who created the first lesbian publication in the world. Lisa Ben is an anagram of the word “lesbian.” Her nickname is Ellie although Thomas prefers to call her El.


    * Katherine Ann Houghton and Thomas Houghton
      * The original plot of the story was to have Elisabeth fall in love with her best friend. The main inspiration for Elisabeth’s love interest was the actress Katharine Hepburn.
      * Katharine Hepburn is known by many, especially today, as a bisexual icon. She was a famous actress during the transitional period from silent to sound films and was one of the few whose acting career survived the transition. She also acted in stage plays and television films. The American Film Institute lauds her as the greatest female actor of Classic Hollywood Cinema.
      * Hepburn was known to have had relationships with both men and women. She also defied the conventional standards of her time by wearing clothes that were not stereotypically feminine. The unconventional lifestyle that she led and the independent characters that she portrayed led to her being remembered as an important cultural figure.
      * The inspiration for giving Katherine Houghton a twin brother came after seeing the film _Sylvia Scarlett_ (1935) and seeing pictures of the stage play Shakespeare’s _Twelfth Night_ (1960). Katharine Hepburn played characters who cross-dress in the productions: as the con artist Sylvia/Sylvester Scarlett and as Viola/Cesario.
      * Katherine is, obviously, a variation of Katharine Hepburn’s name. The surname “Houghton” is her middle name. Inevitably, the name Katherine was chosen for the two possible nicknames that she could use: Kitty (more traditionally feminine) or Kit (more traditionally masculine).
      * A play of names:
        * Ann (variant of Anne) means “grace” or “favor” in Hebrew. On the other hand, Thomas, in Aramaic simply means “twin.” 
        * Coincidentally, Katharine Hepburn’s older brother was named Tom.
        * Their names is a play on who Elisabeth’s true object of affection is. One sibling being the favored one and the other simply being the twin.


    * Other characters
      * Ginny Wolfe, Katherine’s female friend who may or may not have been her lover, is pun/homage to writer Virginia Woolf (who, herself, was bisexual, and wrote about the more-than-platonic affections that women had for each other).


  * A few other easter eggs:


    * The first entry in the diary is a homage to the film/stage play _The Children’s Hour_. The production itself is based on the real life story of two school headmistresses who were tried for supposedly having a lesbian affair the events of this incident was written in Lillian Faderman’s _Scotch Verdict_. Many of the names form the first diary entry are all nods to the film, play, and book.
      * The tritagonists’ fictional home town of Pirie-Woods: Jane Pirie and Marianne Woods, the two headmistresses accused of having an affair, whose trial was written about by Faderman.
      * Faderman Academy: Lillian Faderman
      * Audie: Audrey Hepburn, played Martha Dobie in _The Children’s Hour_
      * Beaty: Shirley MacLaine, borne Shirley Maclean Beaty, played Karen Wright in _The Children’s Hour_
      * Mathilda “Tilly” Haynes: based on Amelia Tilford’s name, the grandmother of the student who accused Martha and Karen of having a relationship in the film; Haynes is the surname of the director of the film _Carol_ , an adaptation of the lesbian pulp novel _The Price of Salt_.
      * Martha Hopkins: a combination of the name “Martha” and “Hopkins” (Hopkins from actress Miriam Hopkins who played Lily, Martha Dobie’s aunt)
      * Veronica Ford: Not exactly based on anyone, but one of the actresses in the film is coincidentally named Veronica Cartwright


    * The diary was largely inspired by lesbian pulp novels written in the 1950s onwards, hailed as the “golden age of lesbian pulp fiction” where lesbian novels were published and widely distributed. Many of the novels then were written by straight men and women hoping to warn against the dangers of female homosexuality. Although many novels were written to “moralize” or prove that nothing could come out of a homosexual relationship, many queer (often female) writers expressed their unspoken/unspeakable feelings in the novels, usually under pseudonyms. Lesbian pulp novels was one of the key factors in the coming out of many women of those years. 


    * Tropes in lesbian pulp fiction still pervade lesbian fiction today. Many argue that this is largely the reason why many lesbian films still contain tropes like: rape, film ending in a suicide or death, one or both women realizing they are straight, one or both women eventually ending up in a relationship with a man, etc.


    * Patricia Highsmith’s _Price of Salt_ (written under her pseudonym Claire Morgan), which was later adapted into the film _Carol,_ is one such lesbian pulp fiction. It is hailed as the first of the genre to have a happy ending (neither characters die or end up with a man, Therese goes back to Carol and expresses her love for Carol in the closing scene of the novel).


    * Cate Blanchett, who supposedly played Katherine Houghton in the fictional film _Elisa_ played Katharine Hepburn in the film _The Aviator_ (2004), directed by Martin Scorsese, where she starred alongside Leonardo DiCaprio who played Howard Hughes. Cate Blanchett also plays Carol Aird in the film _Carol_.


    * Naomi Watts, on the other hand, was an executive producer of and acted as one of the primary protagonists in the series _Gypsy_. Her character, Jean Holloway, PhD, is a clinical psychologist who ends up in relationship with her patient Sidney Pierce.


    * Atlanta Film Festival is a real event and the Pink Peach is awarded to the best LGBT short film or feature film.


    * The pressed violets is a reference to Sappho using violets as imagery in her fragments. Carson notes that Sappho uses violets, “an epithet of brides and of a goddess” (Carson 363). 
      * The two Sapphic fragments at the beginning and at the end are from Carson’s book _If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho_. The translations of the following are as follows:
        * Fragment 163: “my darling one”
        * Fragment 147: “someone will remember us / I say / even in another time”
      * In her letters, Katherine addresses Elisabeth as “my darling one.”
      * Although the idea for the story was derived largely from lesbian pulp novels and imagination. Fragment 147 is meant to signify the fact that the story is a homage to Edith Windsor and Thea Spyer, a lesbian couple who, after 42 years, entered into a domestic partnership in 1993. They are the subject of a documentary called _Edie & Thea: A Very Long Engagement_. 


  * On sources:


    * Many of the information is taken from smatterings of Wikipedia articles (i.e., information regarding the legalization of same-sex marriage) and other sources (e.g., articles about Katherine Hepburn and the like).
    * The story itself was inspired by a medley of lesbian pulp fiction: e.g., Artemis Smith's _Odd Girl Out_ , Valerie Taylor's _Unlike Others_ and _The Girls in 3-B_ , Sloane Britain's _These Curious Pleasures_ , Randy Salem's _The Sex Between_ , and Ann Banon's _Beebo Brinker_ series. Apart from the _Beebo Brinker_ series, which ended tragically (more a product of Bannon's depression than adherence to the moralizing tendencies of lesbian pulp fiction), the rest of the books all had happy endings (i.e., defied lesbian pulp conventions).


    * A few more sources:



_Alyson Almanac._ Boston, MA: Alyson Publications, Inc., 1990.

                 Sappho. _If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho_. Trans. Anne Carson.Vintage Books, 2002.

                  Faderman, Lillian. _Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers._ NY: Columbia UP, 1991.

 _\---. Scotch Verdict._ NY: Columbia UP, 1983.

                  Jay, Karla. _Dyke Life: A Celebration of the Lesbian Experience._ NY: BasicBooks, 1995.

                 Young Allen, and Karla Jay. _The Gay Report._ NY: Summit Books, 1979.                


End file.
